


The Captain

by Calyps0



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Controlling Behavior, F/M, Happy Ending?, Lizzington - Freeform, Possessive Behavior, Screenplay/Script Format, but one-sided, major character deaths, memory manipulation, prediction for end of series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:01:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23885668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calyps0/pseuds/Calyps0
Summary: So I decided to write a prediction for the last episode of The Blacklist - this is my idea of how the series will ultimately end. I had previously written another story with a similar concept called "Again." You can read thathere:Also, I was reading the "Duel of the Fates" script, and was inspired to put this in screenplay format. Please excuse any formatting/syntax errors, as I haven't taken any formal screenwriting classes. Any constructive criticism is always appreciated.
Relationships: Elizabeth Keen/Raymond Reddington
Kudos: 12





	The Captain

**THE BLACKLIST**

**SERIES FINALE**

**EPISODE TITLE: THE CAPTAIN**

By

Calyps0

Based On Characters Created By

Jon Bokenkamp

4.27.20

START MONTAGE:

A fire in a house, a little girl and a bunny.

A gunshot, sparks spitting into the air.

A field of Christmas trees.

An empty tank of gas.

A woman, distinguishable only by her flame-red hair.

A man with twilight-dark eyes, green in the firelight.

A beach, a storm, a locket.

A music box. A piano key. A cabin. A glass of buttermilk.

A hand with a red ring, matching burn scars-

And a yellow puzzle box. R-O-M-E-O.

INT. LIZ’S APARTMENT – BEDROOM - MORNING

ELIZABETH KEEN wakes up. A dream.

She gets out of bed, pops two aspirin on the nightstand - the headaches have been getting worse.

A song blares on the radio alarm – something old-timey and upbeat. It seems more to speak to REDDINGTON’s taste than Liz’s, but she wakes AGNES, setting her breakfast at the kitchen table, and turns the radio knob up.

There’s a knock on the door: Agnes’s nanny, here to take Agnes to school. Liz kisses her daughter goodbye.

LIZ

I’ll come pick her up at six.

(to Agnes)

See you tonight, sweetheart.

AGNES

Bye, mommy.

The door clicks closed. The room seems emptier without the ringing sounds of a bustling morning. Liz cleans the table and gathers her things for work, but one of Agnes’s coloring books catches her eye. A half-filled in illustration: a woman on a balcony and a man down below. Romeo and Juliet. R-O-M-E-O.

Underneath the image is a note in Liz’s own neat handwriting. To a child’s eye it could be mistaken for a caption:

**E.K. 11/19.**

Liz frowns at the illustration and flips through the rest of the book. The remaining pages all bear her initials and corresponding dates: **9/14. 7/15. 8/20. 1/17.** Some pages have multiple dates. There are dozens.

LIZ

What the-?

She flips to the back page, frowning at the inside cover. There are faint impressions there, as if someone has pressed down hard while writing atop it.

The song ends abruptly, leaving silence and a creeping sense of unease.

Liz grabs a pad of colored paper from Agnes’s art supplies and scratches over the cover with a blunt crayon. It’s a letter. She starts to transcribe it, and we see:

**Liz,**

**City First Bank. Box 1324.**

**Key is in the hiding place.**

**P.S. Don’t tell RR.**

Liz looks up, furrows her brow. She does a visual sweep of the room, gaze landing on the lamp by the sofa. She peers under it and retrieves a tiny silver key.

LIZ

Old habits.

EXT. LIZ’s APARTMENT - MORNING

Liz pulls out a CELLPHONE and dials.

HAROLD COOPER

(into phone)

Agent Keen. Bright and early I see.

LIZ  
Morning, sir. I got a call from Reddington this morning with a lead on a case. I’ll come to the Post Office when we’re finished.

HAROLD COOPER

We’ll see you then.

Liz clicks the cellphone shut, and after a moment’s hesitation, powers it OFF.

INT. POST OFFICE – MORNING

The great elevator opens, door sliding heavily. RAYMOND REDDINGTON, immaculate in a mauve suit and matching tie, enters, DEMBE ZUMA in tow. Red removes his trademark FEDORA.

RED

Beautiful morning, isn’t it?

His voice booms in the small space – confident, commanding.

The task force: ARAM MOJTABAI, AGENT RESSLER, and AGENT PARK, are already assembled in the WAR ROOM. Ressler’s phone buzzes, and he walks a few steps to answer it. At RED’s voice, HAROLD COOPER scales down the stairs from his office.

RED

Ah, Harold, how are we?

COOPER

(nonplussed)

Reddington? To what do we owe the pleasure?

RED

(looking around)

I was under the impression AGENT KEEN worked here. I need to speak with her and haven’t been able to get in touch.

COOPER

(frowning)

Agent Keen phoned half an hour ago. She said she was checking up on a lead from you.

RED

Did she now?

COOPER

You didn’t call her?

RED

(cocky)

Seeing as how the sole stipulation of our agreement was “I only speak with Elizabeth Keen,” I think I would know if that had transpired.

He replaces his hat on his head.

ARAM

Wait, does that mean Agent Keen lied?

(off Cooper’s look)

Why would she do that?

Red ignores this.

RED

(letting a little concern leech into his tone)

Did she say anything else?

COOPER

Nothing.

Red makes a face, then swiftly turns back toward the elevator. Dembe follows.

COOPER

Wait! Do you know something?

RED

(from across the room)

Not to worry, Harold. As you FBI studs would say, I’m on the case.

He and Dembe leave. Cooper looks unimpressed. Ressler ends his phone call and rejoins the group.

COOPER

Aram, you try to track down Agent Keen. Track her phone if you can. Park, go through surveillance cams. Ressler-

RESSLER

I’ve just got a call from CYNTHIA PANABAKER, sir. She’d like a meeting. Says it’s urgent.

COOPER

Go. Report back. And Ressler-

Ressler stills.

COOPER (CONT’D)

Don’t go missing, too. We can’t go running after two agents.

RESSLER

Will do, sir.

EXT. CITY FIRST BANK – MORNING

A brick monolith. Moderately busy in the early morning.

INT. CITY FIRST BANK – MORNING

Liz walks up to an available teller, a colorful scarf around her neck. The teller, a petite, dark-haired woman with bright glasses, smirks.

LIZ

Hi. I’d like to access a safety deposit box. Number-

TELLER

Let me guess. 1324, right?

LIZ

How did you-

TELLER

Look sweetheart, you’re gorgeous, but I’m not interested, alright? I’ve got a girlfriend.

LIZ

(flummoxed)

What?

TELLER

Look, there are a lot of fish in the sea. You’ll find someone. No need to keep coming here every other week with the same excuse.

LIZ

I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m really just here to access a safety deposit box.

She takes out the key and shows it to the teller.

TELLER

(unconvinced)

Uh-huh.

Liz, nonplussed, stares.

TELLER

(sighing)

Right this way.

INT. SAFETY DEPOSIT ROOM – MORNING

A room lined with silver boxes. The door shuts behind Liz, and she scans the wall. Box 1324.

LIZ

1324, R-O-M-E-O. 1324, R-O-M-E-O, 1324-

Liz crosses to open the box, but abruptly drops the key. She clutches her head with a hand. We see flashes:

A key in a lamp. The bank building. The teller and her bright glasses. The row of boxes.

She’s been here before.

The vision clears. Liz shakes her head. She retrieves the key and slots it into the box and opens it. Inside are…

…DNA tests. Dozens of them. The same test, over and over again. All requested and signed: Agent Elizabeth Keen.

Underneath are surveillance photos, the same shot a hundred times over: Reddington.

Liz’s eyes widen. She fishes under the papers. Underneath is a tiny velvet box. Inside is a ruby red ring with a faded inscription, and a long lock of auburn hair.

_A hand with a red ring, matching burn scars._

Liz clutches her head again.

The last sheaf of paper is another letter. This one holds finality to it. Her handwriting, again. On it, what we understand to be the truth. She reads – but we do not see - something impossible, wonder written across her features.

She flips it over, and we see underlined several times:

** PUT THE KEY BACK. **

INT. CYNTHIA PANABAKER’S OFFICE – MORNING

A neat, streamlined office. CYNTHIA PANABAKER, mature, collected. Ressler knocks but doesn’t wait for an answer before entering.

CYNTHIA PANABAKER

Agent Ressler. Right on time. Tea?

RESSLER

Ms. Panabaker. I think I’d rather find out why I’ve been summoned here.

CYNTHIA PANABAKER

Indulge me.

Cynthia lifts her teacup. Ressler rolls his eyes.

RESSLER

Cream. No sugar.

CYNTHIA PANABAKER

That’s a good boy.

She sets the tea in front of him and takes a sip from her own cup. 

CYNTHIA PANABAKER

Now, as I’m sure you’re already aware, an investigation has been opened regarding Elizabeth Keen.

RESSLER

What?

CYNTHIA PANABAKER

You didn’t know? Oh, Harold should be getting the info right about…

She takes an over-exaggerated look at her watch.

…now. I’ve got some additional paperwork to bring back for him, if you would be so kind.

She pats a thick manila folder.

RESSLER

I’m not your errand boy.

CYNTHIA PANABAKER

Oh pardon me, but it does seem that you’re quite good at being summoned.

Ressler moves to stand. Then he frowns.

RESSLER

Why is Liz under investigation?

CYNTHIA PANABAKER

(blasé)

I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say. However, if I were, I might be obliged to warn you not to misuse FBI resources. Although I can hardly imagine what purpose an upstanding agent such as yourself would have for ordering a hundred identical DNA tests.

RESSLER

DNA tests?

CYNTHIA PANABAKER

Mm. I’d also warn said agent not to run reports on fifty-seven bullet shards, eighty kinds of – very expensive - fabric fibers, and nineteen different - likely stolen - tea spoons.

She taps her own spoon on the rim of her cup.

RESSLER

(flummoxed)

What is this really about? You can’t really be ready to open an entire investigation over spoons.

CYNTHIA PANABAKER

(rolling her eyes)

Hardly. To tell you the truth, Agent Ressler, the bureau’s been letting this all go on too long.

RESSLER

This?

CYNTHIA PANABAKER

The task force, of course.

She steeples her fingers.

CYNTHIA PANABAKER (CONT’D)

Where to start? Well, that Agent Park is a loose cannon - her rap sheet could have intimidated folks in Alcatraz. You - well, I’m sure the folks at Quantico could wax poetic about you.

Ressler raises his hackles at this.

CYNTHIA PANABAKER (CONT’D)

Keen has more strikes against her than a junior baseball team, not least of which is the outright murder of the Attorney General – don’t think we’ve forgotten about that. And that leaves Harold, who turns a blind eye to all the nonsense you kids get up to, all in the name of taking down criminals handed to you by a besuited murderer on a silver platter. I’ve think I’ve had quite enough, don’t you?

RESSLER

What are you trying to say?

CYNTHIA PANABAKER

I’m disbanding the team. As of tomorrow, there will be no taskforce assigned to Reddington.

RESSLER

You’re kidding.

CYNTHIA PANABAKER

I rarely kid. I find it distinctly un-ladylike.

RESSLER

So what are you gonna do about Reddington, huh?

CYNTHIA PANABAKER

Oh, shove him in a black ops prison for the rest of his life, perhaps? I’m sure that’s warranted. As for the rest of you, a career’s worth of desk duty seems like justice, don’t you think?

She smiles, a markedly unkind smile.

RESSLER

You can’t do this.

CYNTHIA PANABAKER

Unfortunately for you, it’s already done.

RESSLER

We’re gonna fight this, you hear me?

CYNTHIA PANABAKER

Of course you will. Do me a favor, will you dear? Take a picture of Harold’s face when you tell him. Oh, and shut the door when you leave.

Ressler stands and leaves her office. He takes special care to SLAM THE DOOR hard enough for it to rattle on its hinges.

INT. POST OFFICE – HAROLD COOPER’S OFFICE - MORNING

Aram pokes his head into Cooper’s office.

COOPER

Any news?

ARAM

Nothing yet. She’s got her phone turned off. Agent Park and I are still going through surveillance footage, but it looks like she deliberately took the side streets.

COOPER

Ok. Let me know what you find.

ARAM

Yes, sir.

He holds up a letter.

ARAM (CONT’D)

By the way, this just came for you.

Cooper takes it, frowning at the postmark.

ARAM (CONT’D)

We will find her, wont we, sir?

COOPER

(distracted)

Of course we will.

Aram leaves. Cooper slides the letter open with a letter opener. He frowns at the contents, and shakes his head, burying his face in his hands.

INT. LIZ’S APARTMENT – MORNING

Red and Dembe enter, guns drawn, sweeping the place. The living room, the bedrooms, the bathroom. All as Liz had left them.

DEMBE

Clear.

They convene in the kitchen. Red swipes a finger on a dirty countertop.

RED

No signs of a struggle. Nothing out of place.

DEMBE

I called Agnes’s school. She was dropped off by the nanny at the usual time. No one saw anything unusual.

Red dials Liz again. No answer.

RED

She’s turned her phone off.

DEMBE

She can’t have gone far. We could find her easily.

RED

That’s not what I’m worried about. She lied to Harold about seeing me. I can’t figure out why.

DEMBE

Raymond, look.

Liz’s letter, left on the counter next to the coloring book. Dembe holds it up. We pan to the text, specifically the last line:

**_ P.S. Don’t tell RR. _ **

Red closes his eyes for a moment. He looks – in this light – incredibly weary.

RED

Let’s head back to the safehouse. I have a feeling Elizabeth will be wanting to meet us there.

EXT. LIZ’S APARTMENT BUILDING – DAY

Liz parks and walks into the building.

INT. LIZ’S APARTMENT BUILDING - DAY

Liz starts to walk up the stairs. A split second later, the elevator dings open, and Red and Dembe step out, walking in the opposite direction.

They miss each other.

INT. LIZ’S APARTMENT – DAY

Liz replaces the key in the lamp. We pan to the letter and the coloring book. All is as she has left it. She looks around the apartment in a long, sweeping glance. She nods, shuts the door behind her.

EXT. LIZ’S APARTMENT – DAY

Liz walks down the block, crosses the street. She reaches a PAYPHONE. Dials.

INT. RED’S CAR - DAY

Red is in the back seat of a sleek car, a few blocks away from Liz’s apartment. Dembe holds out a buzzing CELLPHONE.

DEMBE

It’s Elizabeth.

Red accepts the phone.

LIZ

(into phone)

Reddington?

RED

(into phone)

Elizabeth!

(a bit nastily)

I knew you’d call. You should really turn your cell on. Harold’s been worried sick.

LIZ

We need to talk.

RED

My favorite words. I know just the place.

EXT. RED’S LATEST SAFEHOUSE – DAY

We pan to a neat, split-level brownstone. A terrace and climbing runner beans.

INT. RED’S SAFEHOUSE – DAY

DEMBE stands from the kitchen table - something colorful is spread out on the surface – and takes Liz’s coat. She thanks him and looks around: a neat kitchenette – far less opulent than Red’s usual abodes. Comfortable. Relaxed. Lists on the refrigerator, pictures in frames. This house reminds her, strangely, of Red’s Bethesda apartment, and – even more strangely – of Sam’s place.

LIZ

Red?

RED (O.S.)

Elizabeth! In here.

Dembe does not follow. He instead sits back down and we glimpse what is spread out on the table. Yellow puzzle pieces. Liz stares at them for a moment.

LIZ

Romeo.

DEMBE

What’s that?

LIZ

Oh, nothing.

She follows Red’s voice into a comfortable LIBRARY.

INT. LIBRARY - DAY

RED sits in a recliner, feet propped up, BOOK in hand. It is one of Red’s signature paperbacks: careworn, antique.

RED

Elizabeth. I was just brushing up on my Roman mythology. This Janus fellow was something, wasn’t he? A god with two faces. Can’t say I’ve ever met anyone like that, but there was this one time in Montevideo where I—

In a sudden fit of pique, Liz pulls the book from Red’s hand and tosses it over her shoulder. He watches it sail out of sight, landing in a heap on the carpet.

LIZ

How many times, Reddington? How many times?

Red mock frowns, strokes his chin.

RED

I think I’ve only read that book twice. Can’t say I remember how it ends.

LIZ

How many times-

And she struggles here to keep her composure. Swallows. Red furrows his brow, concerned.

LIZ (CONT’D)

How many times did you have my memory altered? I know it was more than once. Tell me.

Realization flashes in Red’s eyes. That and something else. It looks suspiciously like resignation. He sighs.

RED

Humor me for a moment, will you? I want to delay this for as long as possible.

LIZ

Delay what?

RED

Everything.

Liz frowns. Red is still lounging. She is standing, poised, ready to leap into action.

RED (CONT’D)

You should know that I never wanted to hurt you. Elizabeth, I do lo-

LIZ

Don’t.

Red gets up slowly, as if sensing Liz’s reflexes. He bends at the waist, retrieves the book. Flips to a dog-eared page. Points to an illustration: a delicately rendered man. Classic Grecian features. Chiseled nose, slim lips. Two faces.

RED

Janus is the god of many things: beginnings, gates, transitions, duality, doorways, and my personal favorite: time. I see memory as an extension of time, and of Janus. We look forward at the same time we look back.

The speech sounds well-prepared, as if he has been mulling over it for quite some time. Liz looks unconvinced.

RED (CONT’D)

Memories, much like time, can be dangerous. They are corruptible. They can also be corruptors. I think I told you once I was your sin-eater. There are many things I think you would wish to forget.

He pauses here.

RED (CONT’D)

Fourteen days. That’s all it took the first time. You were a smidge sharper then, if you don’t mind me saying. It only took fourteen days from the moment we met in that great big box for you to discover my true identity.

LIZ

I don’t understand.

RED

Do you remember the time I told you I wanted to be a ship captain?

LIZ

(taken aback)

Yes.

RED

Or the time we went on the run after you shot the Attorney General. Do you remember the shipping container, the ocean, the waves?

LIZ

You told me I was your Polaris. Your way home.

RED

Yes. Good memories, all. Agnes’s birth, you remember, yes?

She nods.

RED (CONT’D)

Every time you caught a criminal, saved a life? You remember these things, don’t you?

She nods again.

RED

I was only protecting you, Lizzie.

This is the first time he has called her this in a long time. She registers its impact in the air.

LIZ

Raymond.

Another first in a while.

LIZ (CONT’D)

Please. Just tell me.

Red swallows. Then with a rather uncharacteristic shrug, seemingly throws caution to the wind.

RED

Oh, who can say? The team was nosy, after all.

LIZ

Wait - the team?

RED

Yes. You know, the taskforce we’ve been running for the better part of a decade?

LIZ

Who on the taskforce?

RED

Who?

At Liz’s expression, Red raises his eyebrows in surprise.

RED (CONT’D)

Oh. You didn’t know.

LIZ

Red, just—

RED

All of them, Lizzie.

LIZ

A-all of–

RED

Well, you know Donald. Couldn’t keep his hands to himself even if he were a Houdini impersonator.

LIZ

How many times?

RED

For him? Oh, sixteen.

LIZ

Sixteen…times?

RED

Just about. Now Agent Park is a bit more cautious, but she’s a nasty piece of work. Her I only had to do nine times, but it felt like ninety.

LIZ

You…erased her memories, too?

RED

Just a few of them.

Red frowns and counts on his fingers as if ticking items off a list.

RED (CONT’D)

Harold of course, is more to the books. Six times, all told, and twice for his wife because she came looking for him. Charlene is a minx. Then that leaves Aram…

(sotto voce)

…who between you and me is too smart for his own good.

(regular volume)

Twenty times for him, and it would have been more without one of his many girlfriends to distract him.

LIZ

What about…me?

RED SMILES, as if he has been saving the best for last.

RED

Oh, Lizzie.

She bristles visibly at this.

RED (CONT’D)

You are my crowning achievement.

LIZ

How many?

Her voice shakes.

RED

Two-hundred-thirty six.

LIZ

Two…hundred—

RED

Truly magnificent. Each time, a fight. Each time, a little silver arrow to my heart. You are my cupid, Lizzie. You strike me. And every time your wound is sweet as sorrow, fresh as rose.

LIZ

How could you do something like that? Over a secret? How can your identity be more important to you than other peoples’ lives?

(stronger)

You took my memories from me, manipulated my life. But I know now, I know who you are. And I will destroy you.

RED

I know you know. You’ve figured it out two hundred thirty-six, pardon me, two-hundred thirty-seven times.

Liz stumbles backward a step.

LIZ

You’re gonna do it again?

RED

You won’t remember a thing.

Only here does his smile falter.

RED (CONT’D)

It hurts me, Lizzie, why can’t you leave well enough alone? You push me to do it, each time you push me.

LIZ

(whispers)

You’re gonna do it again.

RED

And you’ll be my darling Lizzie again, until you decide to go digging.

He pauses fractionally here.

RED (CONT’D)

Aren’t you tired?

LIZ

(screaming)

I WON’T LET YOU DO IT AGAIN!

At this Dembe comes rushing in – gun drawn, puzzle forgotten.

Liz takes out her sidearm. Dembe raises his. Red waves him down with a look.

RED

(a little sadly)

You won’t shoot, Lizzie. You never do.

This moment is very much like Liz faced down Tom Connolly. There is a second where we remember that his death was to save Red. But circumstances change. And there is no going back from this, but there is no other option, either.

Liz fires twice, like she learned in the academy. Quantico seems a hundred years away, now.

DEMBE

No!

Red goes down hard. Dembe raises his gun at Liz, but RED gurgles out—

RED

Don’t…

Liz trains her gun on Dembe, who has lowered his weapon a fraction.

LIZ

Don’t help him!

DEMBE

(Visibly rattled)

You can’t let him die!

LIZ

I have to.

DEMBE

His death will enact certain…protocols. As will mine. You should know what will happen.

She looks at him as if seeing him for the first time. In a way, there have been many firsts.

LIZ

Let him enact his protocols. Divest his assets. Pay out debtors. What do I care? I’ve been living half a life, because of him.

RED

(Wetly, from the floor)

Lizzie.

His last word, as he has always intended it to be. We remember Yaabari and Red’s whisper even though he did not know Liz was standing there.

In the here and now it is very much the same. And despite what Red has done it is not an apology; there is no remorse woven through it.

It is simply her name on his lips, like it belongs to him.

This is how Raymond Reddington — Concierge of Crime, Master of Criminals and cheater of death — dies: on the floor in a pool of his own blood, survived by the two people he has loved the most.

Dembe is crying, hands shaking. Liz looks at Red, unmoving, and wipes a tear from her face. It is hard to let him go, even as she realizes the depth of manipulation he has put her through. She seems for a moment to memorize his face. Then she blinks and her gaze is clear, her frame lighter, free of the past that has haunted every moment for the last ten years. There is a life for her now, from this jumping-off point. She has finally learned to let go.

LIZ

(TO DEMBE)

Go ahead. Enact his protocols. Make that your last act for him. Everything else, do for you. For your family. You’re free from his wickedness. Go home.

With one final look at RED, she leaves.

Dembe, tears trailing down his cheeks, pulls out a FLIP-PHONE. Makes a call.

DEMBE

(Hoarsely, into the mouthpiece)

He’s gone.

His voice cracks. He snaps the phone shut.

After what is only a second of indecision, he places his gun under his chin and closes his eyes. The screen pans away to Red’s unmoving frame, his outstretched hand, the book, fallen open, to the illustration he had pointed to earlier. The page is dog-eared, a speck of blood splattered on the caption.

A single shot reverberates. It is not like the shot we remember all those years ago, when Dembe faced down the end of a barrel in the hand of Anslo Garrick. This one is final.

We pan away from the library, back out into the kitchen. The table with the puzzle pieces – half-finished.

A canary.

CUT TO:

Alerts to Red’s people – faces we’ve grown to know and love. Dembe’s family. Glen. Brimley. The cleaners. Heddie. Marvin Gerard. Then—

Motion. Mailers, people on phones, wads of cash changing hands, guns being loaded—

Plans being carried out.

Music – haunting, melodic, thrumming - starts.

EXT. POST OFFICE – MIDDAY

ARAM, at his desk, hands quick on his keyboard, rectangles in his glasses, bright, bright.

AGENT PARK, cases in hand, brow furrowed. Dedicated, committed.

Cooper, coming down the stairs from his office, cellphone in hand.

COOPER

Can anyone get in contact with Agent Ressler? His meeting was supposed to end hours ago. 

ARAM

Negative, sir.

COOPER

I told him not to go missing.

A sudden flash on Aram’s screen, fizzing, buzzing, short-circuiting, flashing out.

ARAM

What the—

COOPER

What is it?

He’s still standing on the stairs, silhouetted against the American flag, the picture of our fearless leader.

ARAM

(Panicked)

Sir, I think we’ve been ma-

EXT. POST OFFICE - MIDDAY

The entire block erupts in a fiery explosion. Decimated. Unrecoverable.

An American flag pin, amongst the rubble. A yellow pipe, from the box. A computer screen. Papers, everywhere. Everything from the last decade - gone in a moment.

EXT. SUBURBAN NEIGHBORHOOD – MIDDAY

We pan to a shape on the street. Ressler, having been caught off-guard returning from his meeting with Cynthia Panabaker, splayed out on the concrete. A single shot to the center of his skull. His eyes are electric – bright-blue, unseeing.

INT. CYNTHIA PANABAKER’s OFFICE – MIDDAY

We zoom in on: a high-heeled shoe.

Panning out we reveal: CYNTHIA PANABAKER, splayed on the floor, dead in her office.

Pan to:

Everyone who’s ever known about Reddington, targeted. Fingers on triggers, brakes shorted out, fires and explosions and death – all across the world. 

Finally, an ENVELOPE on thick red paper, delivered to Liz’s apartment, dropped out by an anonymous postal carrier. On the front, in slim, precise handwriting: “TO LIZZIE: THE TRUTH.”

The music ends, sharp on a note, when we cut to black and the silence is as deep and ringing as a pin-drop.

EXT. CEMETERY - MID-FALL

Liz holds AGNES with one hand, a slim charcoal fedora in the other. Agnes catches it and wears it for a moment.

There is no text displaying “X months later,” but we can tell some time has passed. Agnes is taller, her hair longer. Liz still wears subdued black, but the clothes are less utilitarian, more feminine. Her makeup is minimal, but bolder than we’re used to seeing. A pinch of pink on her cheeks.

LIZ

Agnes, go wait on that bench for a minute, ok?

She catches the hat off her daughter’s head and chuffs her affectionately under the chin.

LIZ

(to gravestone)

Hi Raymond.

The camera pans in on the headstone’s inscription: RAYMOND “RED” REDDINGTON. Son. Father. Friend.

Lizzie retrieves the red envelope from her jacket. Its message seems to warn.

She sighs, nods quickly as if psyching herself up for something. Finally, she smiles. It is a sad smile, full of all the things that have been taken from her: her father, her husband, her grandfather, her mother. More deaths than any one person should have to bear.

LIZ

(quietly, to the gravestone)

I’ve finally figured out what I wanted to say to you.

She kneels on the soil. It crunches under her boots.

LIZ (CONT’D)

You controlled my life from the moment I was born. And I know now that you truly believed you were doing it out of love. I just wish you’d learned to love in a different way.

She swallows and looks down at the envelope in her hand.

LIZ (CONT’D)

I haven’t read this letter. I know that was your last wish – for me to read it, and read your confession about who you are. But I’m not going to do anything else just because you will it. I’m done digging. I’ve seen enough. Your identity doesn’t make me who I am. I’m going to live my life as I should have done – as you should have learned to let me do – from the very beginning. As my own.

Liz props the letter against the headstone with the fedora. The seal is unbroken.

She stands.

Liz takes Agnes’s hand and they walk away, a slight smile on Liz’s face. Their silhouettes fade into a blur.

We PRESS IN ON the headstone, the damning letter, the fedora.

Overhead, music:

_If you havin' girl problems I feel bad for you son,_

_I got 99 problems, and a bitch ain't one._

Cut to black.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is rather dark, and probably not the happy ending you'd hope for, but i do feel it is very much in line with what we've seen, and (for Liz at least) a way to move forward. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think! <3


End file.
